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<title>The Man in the Mask by Jamie_Douglas</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27334303">The Man in the Mask</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Douglas/pseuds/Jamie_Douglas'>Jamie_Douglas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Place to Call Home (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M, Male Homosexuality</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:35:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27334303</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Douglas/pseuds/Jamie_Douglas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What would the real James Bligh be like?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Bligh/Harry Polson, James Bligh/Olivia Bligh, James Bligh/William</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Man in the Mask</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Takes place roughly after ep. "Cane Toad."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Coming back from the stables, James walked into the study stiffly, as though it pained him to do so. His face was like a beautiful Grecian mask, sculpted and immoveable. A casual onlooker may have assumed that he either had no personality at all or was simply a very restrained, reserved man. In fact, he was repressed, by his grandmother, his society, and himself. Ever since his early teens and that disturbingly erotic encounter with young Harry, the real James had been in hiding. His carefully tailored slacks and immaculately ironed dress shirts hid a body that was aching to break free. </p><p>The only person who had glimpsed an authentic version of James was across the ocean now, soon to be buried in his own restrictive life. William had understood him—every part of him. Oxford, horses, music, and cricket, sure, but more than that: he’d sensed the vulnerability just barely contained under all those layers of class and tradition. When William had touched James’s hand and their eyes had met, that had been the last day for secrets between them. James’s careful control had disappeared like a bubble too easy to burst. That passion had not been faked. William had held the six-foot man in his arms and James, for the first time since his mother had died, had wept. </p><p>And then Grandmother had seen them together, ordered James to be married. And James had wanted to die. How could he live an entire life, pretending to be someone else? How could he go back into that stuffy little box, having so recently breathed fresh air? He liked Olivia. He wanted children. He wanted to be accepted in society. All of that was true. But he knew that if he was honest with himself, as Harry would want him to be, that dark, smothering depression would return in an instant, and he’d yet again regret allowing Sarah Adams to pull him back onto the ship that night. Those churning waves would call to him again because death was the only place he felt he could be at home. </p><p>So he kept his self-control so tightly wound that the merest sight of Harry was a threat. When he’d challenged Bert to fight, he hadn’t done it only to impress. He’d craved the violence—the dull jar of knuckles against bone. He’d desperately wanted to take out his anger on the poor excuse for a man. Because despite his perfectly combed hair and his flawless manners, James Bligh was a very angry man. He just didn’t know where to direct his anger and most often turned it on himself. </p><p>The brandy filled his glass with a mocking splash and he waited, calmly, to be called into dinner.</p>
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